The Man at the Bus Stop
by Doughnuts of Miroku
Summary: Higurashi, Kagome. Martyr, really bad cook, and the object of a demon's bloodlust. Inuyasha. Bastard, Japanese syndicate assassin and leader, tragic Romeo to an unfaithful Juliet. Doesn't this sound like the makings of a really good fanfic?
1. Flowers in the Window

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_**The Man at the Bus Stop**_  
  
_By Doughnuts of Miroku_

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Dedicated to Raku-chan, my pet monkey, and Sensei Kenery for inspiring me with a story about a red-headed Korean dude who waits at her bus stop. It was my muse in writing this little ditty. Happy Santa's Work Day! And to Kristine, who wrote the fabulous Anime High fanfic (CHECK IT FREAKING OUT!), who inspired me to write an Inuyasha fanfic in the first place.  
  
Okay, sure, maybe, just maybe. Inuyasha might be a bit out of character, and Kagome's character is starting to sound like me on a good day. But I want to delve into a deeper side of Inuyasha and find the sentimental man he is. I know you're thinking "What deeper side of Inuyasha?" Well, get some imagination. Too hard? Buy some on   
  
Inuyasha does not belong to me. Unless I somehow con Seto Kaiba into making me his wife and buy out his company. Then with all the money, I could buy full custody of Inuyasha. So I'll have all the Inuyasha studs, and a cold, unfeeling bishnonen for myself in which I could rip his shirt off and bite. cough Or, I could just stay a poor student, and be content with my fanfics.

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_"When I first held you, I was cold. A melting snowman I was told . . . "_

_- "Flowers in the Window" by Travis_

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_Chapter I: Flowers in the Window_  
  
"One kind word can warm three winter months." This was a Japanese saying from my Words for The Wise book, given to me by my father in his deathbed. It was only the two of us, two generations of the Higurashi's, before Papa died. Mama abandoned us for a demon lord, bore a hanyou bastard, and died at childbirth. I was a single child, so was Papa, and he himself had no parents to claim as his own. I knew no one in this world, except for the shadow of my mother and the lingering memories of Papa. I, Kagome Higurashi, was nineteen, barely out of childhood, and the sole resident of the Higurashi Shrine. While slowly, agonizingly, fading to his death, Papa remarked his last words,  
  
"You know I'd never want to leave you like your mother did. But what can I do? When you're but a mere human, how can you defy God? You need a father; you'll get one, damnit. Here's a book." With that, his hand, resembling aged paper, off-white, dog-eared, delicate, encased a book, seemingly old, seemingly too sturdy to be in the hands of Papa.  
  
"Take this. It will teach you all the things you need to know in life. Things I don't have the time to teach you. Remember, I love you very much, my little princess." Then like a brief gust of wind, he departed from this world, a corpse when he once was a lively man, a stranger that I once knew. Papa was dead, and I alone had nothing left of him but this book, Words for The Wise. There, in the pages of such a book, were quotes by wise sages, dumb comedians that mistakenly blurted a deep thought, proverbs from ordinary men; I used this book to live every day of my life, mundanely trudging through high school and following the wise words.  
  
The streets were barren, empty, on this Sunday morning. It was void of people; the only movement was the rustling of leaves on the sidewalk trees and the whistling of the wind upon the clouds. I preferred the morning to be as is, like the world evacuated every one, but me, so I could live in blissful silence. What a lonely life that would be. I was flying through the streets on my bicycle, ringing the quaint, little bell on the handle. As I passed, the pigeons scattered in mid-flight to come back again once I no longer raided their morning breakfast. I turned my head over my shoulder to watch the pigeons' comical expressions and laughed. The park was overhead, my destination. Once I reached the park, I locked my bike in the bike rack. Gleefully, I pranced to the ice cream vendor and requested a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone. After I thanked the vendor, I enjoyed my ice cream as I strolled through the pathway of the park.  
  
From across the street was a bus stop and a man. In actuality, a man waiting for the bus. Ordinary, yes? Usually, yet the man had a look of anguish, sadness one achieves only through heartbreak, and these adorable pair of doggie ears. His look was torn by age and pain. The man at the bus stop was lonely, without a doubt. I was fascinated by him, by this man at the bus stop, which I now named him. Whatever happened to him that caused him to look like the world betrayed him? I searched through the rummage in my backpack for my book. Once in hand, I turned to the page where it was book marked. Today's quote was "One kind word can warm three winter months."  
  
This settled it. Here, the advice of my own father hinted rather bluntly that I had to assist this jaded man. I jaywalked towards the bus stop, nearly becoming road kill on Shikon no Tama Street when a Lexus SUV raged by.  
  
"Damn you! I'm walking here! Can't you see I'm in the process of doing a good deed? They're gonna canonize me for this." I steamed to the SUV, bringing my hands on the hood with a thud and with that, I kicked the none-too-pleasant bumper. Feathers ruffled, I faced the man at the bus stop who just witnessed my "little" brush with anger. I was behind the suede- glass wall of the bus stop; my hands pressed against the surface.  
  
"I'm sorry for the pain you feel. I'm sorry for the person who has hurt you. I know my words won't mean much to you because I'm a stranger. But my book says that one kind word can warm three winter months. I think you've gone through too many winter months, sir," I said this as he looked with bewildered wonder, then briefly, it went with the ebb of his emotions.  
  
"Feh, wench, run away. Run away and never come back. I can't expect you to have people abandon you." he barked intimidating, fangs jutted out. Words like his couldn't touch me personally. He was a stranger, a someone who I didn't know, couldn't care for. Then, I took off, sprinted to no where in particular. I wasn't running away, per say. I was leaving him. I was no coward.  
  
He could not faze me. He, that man at the bus stop, would be another faceless shape in a crowd, passing like the day. I would soon forget him. Yet as I slowed my sprint, staggering a few steps, huffing and panting short breaths, I neared a local bridge over the brook. Over the bridge railing, I saw my reflection in water ripples.  
  
"That bastard. Who the hell does he think he is, telling me that I know nothing about loneliness? I'd like to kick his crotch. Then, he'll know the true meaning of loneliness. Hohohohohohoho!" Through my half- hearted chuckles, tears smeared against the laughter, stained. I tried to laugh, but the tears choked me. At that point, I merely cried, and my reflection in the brook cried as well; image broken.  
  
Damn if I let that man break me.

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"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -- I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference." It was today's quote, given by the poet Robert Frost. It was also the only advice I had before my job interview in Okinawa. Like before, I said that I was nineteen and unemployed; I had no one to support me, nor did I desire someone to depend on. So, I took the road less traveled by, like Robert Frost said, and decided on a job that requested me to extend to a city so far away.  
  
As I strolled to the bus stop, I recollected the situation yesterday. The day before today, I was standing at that very spot from across me, consoling a man who would not accept my comfort. Uneasy, I took my steps languidly, as if he still remained in the bus stop, waiting for something that would never return to him. Once inside the bus stop, I realized there was nothing but an empty seat. Then, I took his place where he once sat, despondently. Absent-mindedly, my fingers traced the splintered wood of the seat, barely grazing, as if tracing his skin. I feared and pitied him like I did the seat; it had the power to harm me, but the abuse it contained itself caused me to treat it delicately. My hand lingered to the bottom of the seat, where I discovered a letter tastefully placed.  
  
Whoosh! The doors of the bus opened its arms to me, responding with the same, familiar sound it did every time. Startled, the letter spilt into my shoulder bag, and I entered the bus, paying my toll, and taking a seat on the first, right chair like I always did. Remote from all the noises and movements, from the constant itching-of-the-butt that the bus driver had and her snorts, I took the letter from my bag and eagerly read. The handwriting was obviously male, apparently tender, and the paper emitted an earthy smell of the deep forest. Fukai mori . . .  
  
_December 1, 2003  
  
I've never been good with words, nor feelings, but I do feel, like I breathe, but no one's heard me, but you. I've been raised as a harsh man, no doubt, and I know no other ways but that of a harsh man. But men do feel, like they breathe. I recall the days before I've met you, and they've been nothing that would serve me good. The mornings were longer, the nights more bitter. The people less humane, the demons less forgiving. What have I but you? Even in silence, you understood me like the times we'd sit underneath the cherry trees, and my thoughts were only that of how beautiful your kindness was. Beauty that stirs a dormant man to cry.  
  
Now you no longer sit underneath those trees, nor stay in deep, reverent silences. You don't exist anymore, but you are everywhere. I could still smell you on my skin, your laughter still echoes, and this causes me to weep. Why couldn't you leave with everything you are than lingering, torturing, captivating me like you once did? Damn me if I don't miss you as much as I do. But, what is a man to do? What is a man to do if he has nothing left for him to live on? No woman for him to cherish, no companion to walk with. No mother for his children, no wife to a husband. What have I left, Kikyou?  
  
I write letters to a ghost, for that I am sure. I also write letters to the one I love. Can you blame a man for loving his mate? Love, the loneliness is consuming me, and I, under the weight, cannot restrain against it. What I wouldn't give for you to return to me. Take my soul, my demon, my strength, my eyes; make me vulnerable, weak. Return to me.  
  
Inuyasha  
_  
And for hours, I read and reread, memorizing the curve of every word, having my heart reach for this man. His love for "Kikyou" was dynamic; his devotion admirable. I didn't know this man, his secrets, his quirks; I don't know the angles of his face or recognize his eyes, but I knew his heart. On this letter, he portrayed his emotions and his obsessions. Inuyasha loved this ghost; something even the means of life and death couldn't annihilate.  
  
"Hey, Kagome. Our bus route is finished. You gotta get out, so I took you back to the street before the bus stop. Don't want the boss to see me giving free rides to underpaying customers," the crotchety bus driver grunted. Her name was Kaede; she was apparently a senior driver of this bus' company. At times, from the weariness of her eye (the other was covered by an eye patch), I could sense that she realized that too many years passed for her. I handed her the letter in attempt to find who this man was.  
  
"Kaede? Do you know who this might have been?" With a suspicious look in her eye, she indulged in the letter; the exhaustion in her expression growing more severe. She sighed and then took a seat beside me. Her head leaned backwards, eyes wide shut, trying to keep the tears from trailing to their demise. Kaede always had a confident air about her like age didn't jade her like most of the elderly, but now, she was torn and old, lacking the crude humor. Where the bus was parked, the view of the bus stop was clearly seen, however no one could spot us from there since we were hidden by a row of trees. At the bus stop was the same man, waiting with the same broken look.  
  
"I thought I could walk away from this. That once I was an eye-shot away from all the memories, she would leave me, leave us, actually. But, Kikyou was never like that. She could never fade away; no matter what she did to us, we loved her despite that. Let me tell you a story, a tragedy without an end, Kagome. There once was a priestess Kikyou who owned the heart of an abandoned hanyou. Long before this, there was a hanyou with the name Inuyasha who didn't have a place in two worlds. He was lost, and she found him on her doorstep like a stray puppy. This man was withdrawn, unable to attach himself to anyone. He didn't welcome her compassion, nor did he hate it. She cared for him, and in return, he loved her. They were both strangers to each other. She didn't know anything of his past, and he was closed from hers. Yet, he loved, damn. His love for her was so profound." Through the retelling of this tragedy, her eye would stray to the man at the bus stop. It was subtle, barely unnoticeable, but I saw her gaze. That was Inuyasha, the writer of this letter.  
  
"She didn't love him, couldn't. She only saw him as a beloved brother. Then, the truth about his past was finally exposed. He was the sole inheritance of the Inu Corporation, with his older brother missing. He had a family, a cousin named Naraku. She met this cousin and loved him. Inuyasha and Naraku loved the same woman, and she could only return the love for Naraku. In one of his temperamental fits, Inuyasha demanded her to choose between him and Naraku. If she loved him, they would meet at that bus stop on Sunday morning." Bile gathered in my throat, thick with emotion. Soon enough, I watched Inuyasha, as Kaede did. My eyes could not abandon that dark figure at the bus stop; even if I demanded, it would ignore me like a shadow walking across a room.  
  
"She never came. Kikyou was waiting outside Naraku's house in the rain, watching and hoping he would be there. In the rain, for hours, she waited and died of consumption the next day. Here, you'd think that Naraku was a sick bastard that played with her heart. It's not the case. He loved her as well. He assumed that she would be waiting by the swings in the park; at the same time, she was waiting for him at his house. When he learned of her death, Naraku took his convertible to the highest point of the cliff by the ocean and walked off the edge. Strangely, his body was never found." Like Romeo and Juliet, a tragedy ending in death.  
  
"And now that man at the bus stop, Inuyasha, waits at 9 o'clock each morning, hoping that Kikyou would step from a passing bus and choose him, love him, over Naraku. That was about a year ago," I traced his figure on the window glass; fingers over the shadow of his defeated slouch absently. Inuyasha. A soul which needed the care of another person, even a much-needed touch of a woman. Quite passionately, I sharply turned towards Kaede, fists clenched, leaving whitish marks left by my fingernails.  
  
"Papa once told me that there would be people like me out there. That I wasn't the only lonely person in this world. I promised him that I'd help out someone like me, so they wouldn't have to endure the pain I've had. I would be a hypocrite if I walked away from him now, from that man at the bus stop. This Inuyasha needs me more than I've ever needed anyone." My hair flared with the speed of my sprint out the bus. I paced to the front of the bus and then halted. With a few breathy whispers from my lips, I inquired what her relation with Kikyou and Inuyasha was. Why she knew such a story? Who was she to the characters of this realistic fairy tale?  
  
I couldn't see much of Kaede's face because the shower of her salt- and-pepper hair masked much of it. Dramatically still, she said, quite simply,  
  
"Kikyou was my daughter, and Inuyasha was the man who loved her."

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"I'm making all this effort to dance with this rude guy." Aya Fuji, from the graphic novel, Forbidden Dance by Hinako Ashihara was this day's quote. It could mean the very words it state. Today, I am to make all this effort to dance with a man who would not have me, who couldn't bear to see my face for some reason unknown. Today, at this moment at 8:59 A.M. (I checked the time with my Emily Strange watch, imported from the states.) I was behind a telephone pole, in cognito with thin framed glasses and hair in two schoolgirl braids. Clutched and tied with a handkerchief that displayed puppy dogs was a bento box filled with breakfast delicacies I myself made.  
  
After I jaywalked across the street, nearly ran over by a delivery truck owned by Taiyoukai Dog Treats, I faced the bus stop, stopping just a foot from the bench, by the dog demon sitting slouched on it. At first, he sat there, immobile with his thoughts, and his breath steady and still. Then, he took several sniffs of the air and plastered a look of intrigue and delight. Inuyasha looked at me with my bento box underneath my arm and glasses skewed.  
  
"Hey there. My name is Kagome Higurashi. Well, I saw you sitting here, and it's breakfast time. I see you sit here everyday, and you don't leave for some time. So I thought you might want some food, and I brought you some. I hope you like it because I spent an hour working on it. I'm not much of a -" I was interrupted by a growl coming from his lips.  
  
"Look, wench. I don't need you to feed me with your poison. Go the fuck away, wench." My, my, someone has a dirty mouth that needs to be washed with soap, again and again.  
  
I approached him with heavy steps and stared menacingly at his amber- washed eyes. Though they were deeper than amber skies with passing clouds and seas that have no end, I broke free from their captivation. I jabbed a finger on his chest, which I might admit was finely muscled and quite a work of art.  
  
"You, sir, should be grateful to me. Someone actually cares a shit about you. You yelled at me. You cursed at me. The least you could do is eat the food I made for you. Here, try one my strawberry rolls." From the box, I took out a delicate pastry filled with strawberry filling, shaped as a squid with my fingers.  
  
"It's yummy, yummy, yummy." On a bout of impulse, I started to fly the squid to Inuyasha's mouth like a mother feeding her infant with a spoon. From my lips, I made airplane sounds. His arm swung to release the bento box from hands, splattering his breakfast on the sidewalk. Amazingly, I still held the squid-shaped treat in the tips of my fingers. I placed the dessert in his mouth; my fingers brushing barely over his lips. At this, I stared at my fingers as they tingled from contact.  
  
"Well, at least taste it. You never know." I muttered as his eyes flashed an expression of surprise and an underlining desire. I backed from my seat beside him to clean the sidewalk from my several, sugary delights. Over my shoulder, I peeked to find him watching me with those eyes: absorbing, feral, and intrigued. I also observed him for the first time. He was a wonder of masculine art: eyes his best feature, and his hair, a mane of exotic white, added to his beauty. Beauty that was neither feminine nor delicate, but entirely male like a man that could consume a woman with a look, that one look of want. He had canines that gave him an animalistic effect, roguish. Those puppy dog ears, casually twitching, on the top of his hair attracted my hands; I needed to touch them, to feel the only softness of a man who couldn't display anything but hostility and cold bitterness. Someday ...  
  
"Sir, doesn't it taste excellent?" He neither nodded in approval nor sneered in dissatisfaction. He merely stared, occasionally sniffing the air.  
  
"Though I understand if you don't like it. So, I brought the greatest innovation of the Japanese culinary world: cup ramen!" From my backpack, I took several cup ramens and a thermos filled with hot water. I poured the hot water into a cup and placed it in his hand. If he doesn't like me feeding him, then he needs to learn how to feed himself. Darn picky men. With the cup ramen, I handed him my Hot Gimmick chopsticks (the cutesy, kawaii-esque chopsticks with a chibi Ryoki on the tips). Once in his hands, he took a whiff of the substance and collected a massive chopstick-full of ramen, feeding it into his mouth. Then at a rapid pace, he consumed the entire cup.  
  
"See? Ramen is a great, good thing. So, you sit here every morning. Are you waiting for someone? Seems kinda maudlin to me, don't you think? Like part of a love story?" The moment the words escaped my mouth and the look of remembered hatred passed his eyes, I knew I would regret my words. I was always reckless like that, speaking words that I know I should never say. He had on such an expression of carnal aggression that I backed away from his approaching figure. Inuyasha stalked closer and closer like a predator eyeing his prey before the pounce.  
  
Then with hell-bound speed, I was bound to the suede-glass wall of the bus stop. His menacing, claw-like fingernails dug unto my wrists, nearly piercing the skin, always at the brink of breaking the skin's surface, but never drawing actual blood. He was in a semi-embrace position with his head nestled where my shoulder met my neck. I could feel his rapid breath on my skin. Warm. It was warm, almost a comfort. It hurt; I was caught between pain and pleasure.  
  
"Bitch. Leave me the fuck alone. You know nothing." His words danced on the surface of my skin. From the point of my neck and shoulder, his nose traced a pathway upwards to the shallow indention on my neck. It laid there buried; Inuyasha drunkenly teased it back and forth and took occasional deep breaths. The feeling of tasted pleasure washed and ebbed over my body. My body betrayed my mind as it said to run from this sinful demon. To escape his molestation. Yet, all I did was feel, and it felt so damn good. His grip on my wrist transferred to the middle of my arms and flung me to the sidewalk. I sprawled there; my hair distorted and glasses skewed. Above me, he towered aloof, a stranger who knew my body better than I did.  
  
"I suggest you stay the hell away from me unless you want to get raped."  
  
That day, instead of cowering from him and running home like I did the other day, it was him who strolled the sidewalk and walked away. I still remained on the sidewalk as his figure turned into a black speck in a distance.  
  
"I really do make all the effort to dance with him."  
  
God damn, he did get the last word.

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A/N: How the hell was that? If you want, you can send me review, flames, suggestions, comments, or nominations for the Nobel Literature Award. If you don't want, WHAT'S THE CHANCE A FAT CAT MIGHT END UP NEXT TO YOUR BEDSIDE AND EAT YOU!?


	2. Losing All Control

Disclaimer: Mmph. Look at the disclaimer of another Inuyasha fanfic. They're obviously cloning the disclaimers, and since I'm too lazy, look at theirs. It's what I would say if I enjoy wasting my time, typing pointless legal stuff. Plus, I'm poor, so don't sue. The government is my friend. I swear.

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_"Oh, can't you see your help is lost in me. I wanna be alone tonight. We've lost all hope for coming back." _

_- "Losing All Control" by Rooney_

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_Chapter II: Losing All Control_  
  
There's a man at the bus stop. For every morning, at exactly 9:00, he waits there, and hours pass by. Then he leaves. It's like he's waiting for someone, someone who never came. I begin to approach him; his figure becoming larger and more menacing as I come closer. Then, I stop in the middle of the road. No, I'm not the someone he's waiting for. I thought this as the sun fell across the line of the horizon. It's like some damn scene from a love story.  
  
It was the afternoon after the incident yesterday. Unconsciously, I rubbed my bruised wrists which were left by Inuyasha. I doubt he knew the dodgy strength he possessed; a man like him knew only of passion and impulses, actions lead by the first thoughts, by what moves him. Retreating, I walk to the familiar telephone pole, leaning against its crude sturdiness. I couldn't approach him today, nor tomorrow, maybe I won't be prepared until after eternity. I turn my head towards the bus stop once again, finding it empty, abandoned, maybe less destute without him. He's gone to whatever home that carries him.  
  
I trailed across the street to the bus stop. Taking a seat, I could still sense the warmth that lingered on the wood. My fingers routinely searched underneath the bench for yet another letter. Finding a paper attached to the bottom, the fingers clumsily, hurriedly, freed it from its taped binds. I unfolded it in anticipation. The letter emitted the same earthy smell. It was Inuyasha . . .  
  
It began as it always did, with the date, as if a constant reminder how time stops for no one, not even the dead and their tragedies.  
  
_December 4, 2003  
  
I sit and I wait, sitting and waiting as the cars speed by as if always in a hurry, the people are no different. I also write letters, letters to you. At times, I wonder if writing letters are enough to return you to me. Then, reality beats me down until I can see just black and blue. I could do nothing else but write letters that receive no replies. I have nothing else to occupy my life, but these letters. I shall be an old man, illness distorting me into a shadow of who I once was, and still writing letters to you, for I still shall love you. Then, death and age, hand and hand, will claim my life, like it did yours, and I shall perish with my letters.  
  
And I shall die contently.  
  
Is this just an obsession, or is truly love? Or maybe a chaos of both? The word "chaos" defines life at the bus stop. The riot outside stirs something within me, a longing, maybe to become part of it. Yet, I would never abandon you, or this bus stop, even for a moment. It takes but a moment for you to pass by, and I, in the process of blinking, will miss you.  
  
I want to draw you in an embrace, to take in your wonderful, wonderful scent, and live in a state of ecstasy. I long for human contact, demonic contact, a touch, a taste, a look, a whisper, anything to inform me that I live in reality. Yet what good is reality when it is filled with misery? Today, I scarred myself for causing another pain. I delved underneath the surface of my skin and created a deep gorge. It stings, but the guilt pains me like no physical pain.  
  
I ask forgiveness, but I'm unable to forgive myself. Kikyou, mate, pardon me for becoming a man you would have no respect for. Maybe then, I could find the will to release the guilt into the reality outside the bus stop, where it can hide amongst its kin.  
  
Return to me.  
  
Inuyasha  
_  
The letter ended with his name, Inuyasha. It seemed simple, yet intimate. Far more than the "Your Darling's" or the "Love's" in mundane, poorly crafted love letters. His were raw, honest, affectionately so, and filled with undying devotion for a woman whose denied him for another man. I stared at my bruised wrists. Was this the same man who wrote such letters?  
  
Then, I came to realize that he was stricken by guilt and burden by it. He was sincerely sorry for what he's done to me, even if he hasn't spoken it with words. That drew a premature grin on my face, uncertain, but happy nonetheless. I was sober, for that I was sure, and I haven't taken any drinks. I was underage. However, I felt the weight of my sleepless nights making my eyelids lazy, and the scent of Inuyasha overcoming me with a sense of comfort. Slipping the letter in my backpack, I laid on the bench, though the rough surface of the bench was not a good bed, and felt the sleep drawing me in. Pitch-black. I was out cold.

* * *

"I'd break any rules or moral code just to be with you," Yuu Matsuura, from the graphic novel, Marmalade Boy, Vol. 8 by Wataru Yoshizumi, was Monday's phrase of the day in my Words for The Wise book. Somehow it isn't advice that would take me anywhere, stir something within me, or guide me through a path of righteousness. Yet, these things have a way of ironically smacking you in the face like a paradox with a mask.  
  
Ticklish.  
  
I felt warmth and moisture trailing down the path of my neck, lingering here and there as if it was in a search for something, but found a distraction in something else. It felt like an insatiable rush of the tides, drawing me in, but the menacing threat of it makes it a dark allure. I brought my hands to the roof of this head, fingers brushing through velvet silk material like a puppy's ears.  
  
Growl. A deep rumbling came from the base of my throat.  
  
I opened my eyes to find two amber orbs, a childish guilty look reflected in his eyes, under a haze of drugged seduction. They were familiar. Then, I realized it was Inuyasha sprawled intimately against my own body. Shocked, my impulses provoked me to scream, and that I did. It echoed through the streets, causing the birds to flee from the branches, and the children biking from the opposite street to stare. His ears were twitching, and an expression of agony marked his face.  
  
"Bitch! Stop screaming. It's just me." Yet, I wouldn't stop my incessant screaming, not for anyone, and especially not for Inuyasha, my repeat offender for molestation. Then, he brought his hand to my mouth, closing off the noise. Still infuriated, I bit his hand on impulse, causing a string of foul language from the dog demon. His hand still remained on my mouth, but now he glared at me with a look that could bring crowds to silence.  
  
"You bit me."  
  
"No shit." I mumbled under his hand. It was then a scarlet blur collided with the side of Inuyasha's cheek, smearing against his skin like a stain on a white shirt. As the red slosh trailed down his shirt, I realized it was a tomato thrown ruthlessly at Inuyasha. I turned my head to look for whoever thrown it. I scanned through the crowds from left to right to find a middle-aged woman with her eyebrows drawn tight and a disapproving grin. In her hand was a bag of tomatoes which she took from her grocery bags.  
  
"Monster! Get away from that innocent girl. You're just a raping, murderous freak. Get away!" Her screams echoed the streets, and hollow silence amongst the crowds was filled with her profanities. Inuyasha was still in a state of shock, barely moving, barely breathing. His eyes were now as hollow as the silence, a pool of drowned amber staring at the floor. Despite all the strength and aloofness he displayed, I knew he was hurt, beyond that, he actually believed the lies that bitch yelled. My nails were digging into my palm, hands into fists, as I stared at the woman in consuming rage. As I moved with my impulses, I jumped up from the bench, sharply, defiantly.  
  
"How dare you?! How can you even compel yourself to throw that tomato at him? Who gave you the decision to decide whether someone who worthy to talk to another person? There is only one monster here, and it's you. Take your tomatoes, and go away. You have no right to even be in a 20- mile radius of him," I spat to her. She looked miffed, and with her nose held up high, took her tomatoes and left. I turned to Inuyasha to find his back facing me as he slouched sadly. I started to reach for him before he interrupted me with a voice I've never heard coming from his mouth.  
  
"Don't. Bitch, that lady was probably right. I'm just a monster. A freak. I've been one all my life. Who was I to think I was anything else? And you're an innocent girl. I can smell it in your blood. It's virgin blood. It draws demons and hanyous. They can't deny themselves from defiling a virgin. It's like adrenaline to a demon. I will take you if you don't get the fuck away from me. It's not going to be candlelight and sweet words. Fucking is fast and deep and rough, especially when concerning a virgin." he growled menacing, every bit a demonic undertone. There was a roguish glint of his eye, indicating that he'd "enjoy" it, every sultry, heated moment of it. I shivered, partly out of fear and partly out of a sensation at the base of my abdomen.  
  
That caused me to hesitate a few steps, backing up a few feet before striding to him with a determined air. I kneeled before him, taking out a handkerchief from my pocket and wiping away the tomato juice from his face. His eyes flashed briefly an emotion of surprise, and then as the tide ebbs away, it disappeared to God-knows-where. They were hard again, cold ambers in the shadow of carnality.  
  
"I trust you. Despite who you think you are, you're not as bad as you think you are. So I trust you. I know you'll never do something like that. You're not that kind of man. Plus, I may be a virgin, but I'm not attractive enough to be jumped on by some horny demon. Do you think I'm attractive, Mr. Person-I-Don't-Know-Your-Name?" He then looked at me as if I grown two heads and I asked him if he'd like to kiss one of them.  
  
"You think you can just ignore reality with your happy-go-lucky humor? Wrong, bitch, the world is cold and cruel, and it always has a frown on its face." He turned his head to look at me with eyes hazed with this untouchable frost like glass-paned windows. There was no emotion contained in them. I extended my arm to his shoulder in some form of reassurance, anything to comfort the inner demon. Like a stitch of lightning, his fist grasped my paper-thin wrist with an iron-clad grip. I was sure that I was bruising underneath his hand; skin turning an ugly black-and-blue.  
  
"Just stop it. Stop it. Stop offering yourself to me. You're a virginal tease. You don't know that you're offering yourself as a sacrifice to me. I'm trying my best to control my demon blood, but once I see red, I cannot guarantee you your chastity. Leave me. Leave, or be claimed." His warm breath hovered on the skin of my face, as he pushed his face an inch away from mine abruptly. Growls, his growls, passed with every well-drawn breath, and his canine fangs jutted out from his mouth. It added a feral look to him, the one of dominance and seduction like those pocketbook characters as sadistic slave owners with their female servants. Nonetheless, I spoke and received my consequences.  
  
"I don't believe that. I can't believe that. You aren't that demon creature those stereotypes claim you are. You are a man of dignity and character. You are the man you are. I don't think you'll rape me like you say you will. I'll prove to you one day, and you'll believe me."  
  
"Don't speak too lightly, little girl."  
  
"So what? I'm a little girl now, and not a wench. Big improvement there, boss." Even before I spoke those words, his grip on my wrist moved to grab my other wrist in a bouquet of tiny, feminine hands above my head. Our position allowed him to bring his body closer to mine, touching intimately with his "bulge" brushing against my abdomen.  
  
"What dignity? What character? For all I care, I just want to fuck you." Bringing his mouth down to mine, he roughly took what he wanted; rough tongues traveling and our hands entwined, groping the other hand in search for something that couldn't be found. He then drew blood from my lip with his canines, and the sting of the wound and saliva gave me this sensation between pain and ecstasy. His tongue lapped my cut, unable to find some satisfaction in the end.  
  
He was addicted to my blood. It drove him wild, heady on my Kagome drug. I doubt he knew that, and if he did, Inuyasha would deny it; he doesn't like depending on another. His perspective thinks it makes him weak, so unlike a demon, more human than anything else. Like Anne Rice's Lestat character from An Interview with A Vampire, he took my blood, agonizingly cutting the wound in shallow punctures, drawing more blood each time.  
  
It hurt physically, but I was more than numb at this point. I just drowned in this sea of blood and the vampire-esque Inuyasha and the thrill. The blood and his lips were doing something to me that a virginal tease like me (so I quote) wouldn't know of: arousal. Plain arousal of the mind, the senses, and the body. Inuyasha then, reluctantly more than anything else, backed away. His thumb brushed my swollen lip, tainting his finger with a drop of red blood.  
  
He brought it to his lips and licked it off, as he kept my gaze with a satisfied, male-pride grin. He knows, probably smelt it with that damned nose of his.  
  
Inuyasha could sense my arousal, and now he was grinning like a masochistic little boy that received a set of whip and chains for Christmas.  
  
"Like I said, it's all about rutting and screwing you. I am addicted to your blood, your scent, your skin. I will not hesitate to claim you if you come near me again, and there won't be any love-making. I will get you out of my system if I have to. Anything to end these fantasies." Gathering his haori-rat red coat, he slipped it on and strolled away, muttering, leaving the wind to gather the hovering scent of arousal and sending it far from here.  
  
His last whisper before I couldn't hear his mutterings anymore were, "I swear if I have to fantasize about her with those whips and chains, I will go crazy and rut with the next person I see. Could even be that damned Kouga. Fuck."  
  
Fuck, indeed.

* * *

A/N: Well, how's that for a bout of writer's block. So those reading, I guess you've figured what kind of story this is. It's that faint line between Dark and Fluffy, Realistic and Fantasy. It's a fat ass freak show. I guess that's the kind of story I give birth to. Maybe it's because I'm a weird, Catholic schoolgirl who listens to Incubus and Postal Service while reading a novel and who is obviously not getting enough loving. Or haven't met a cute guy with nice biceps and sexy hair. Sexy, fuck-a-licious hair.  
  
God damn, I'm starting to sound like one of the Fab Five from Queer Eye. You know, the gayest one of all . . . Howard Dean. Wait, is Howard Dean part of the Fab Five?


	3. Spiderwebs

A/N: Woah. I'm actually updating a story. That's a big shocker. Jinkies. Ain't I special?  
  
Oh yah, I have a friendy friend friend named Kristine. She's posting this rad new story on called The Way Things Were, or something like that. I have a short term memory. Since my computer is acting like a dick, I couldn't post my new chapters and check your fanfic. Bummer.  
  
But now I can!  
  
Here they are.

* * *

_"And now I'm stuck in the web. You're spinning. You've got me for your prey." _

_- "Spiderwebs" by No Doubt_

* * *

_Chapter III: Spiderwebs_  
  
"Be selfish . . . say what you want . . . once in a while," Kyo Souma, from the graphic novel, Fruits Basket, Vol. 1 by Natsuki Takaya, was Friday's phrase of the day. Rather fitting to my situation. I'm behind that same traditional telephone pole, watching Inuyasha sulk in the distance. It was like this since Wednesday. I would stalk him, never approaching him, and he would sit on his ass all day. This was my daily routine, and once, I wanted to gain the valor to approach Inuyasha and speak to him. It's not like he said, "I love you," or "I can't live without you." On the contrary, Inuyasha bluntly started that he wanted to fuck me. SO, why was it that every time I came near him my stomach would gather in twisted bunches and gave me this feeling of regurgitating my breakfast? Inuyasha was the most immoral man I had the displeasure of meeting. That was the fact.  
  
I thought it was a fact. It should have been a fact. Yet somehow it always ended up as a baseless lie. Sure, he openly expressed wanting to defile me. But what guy hasn't tried that line before? That settled it. I was going to walk up to that damn bus stop and talk to him. No one could stop me.  
  
Well, except for the demon in my way. The demon who wore expensive Italian shoes that cost as much as my apartment mortgage and had better groomed hair than I did. The demon named Kouga Takaya Hikasu III. The demon who had more money than the amount of letters in his name, and his name was pretty damn long. He was immobile in the center of the street, not caring if he created traffic or what not. In his costly, imported convertible. Being the cocky bastard he always was.  
  
"Hey, Kagome babe! Since you're going to bear my pups one day any way, you want to go to Smirnoff's tomorrow evening. Real classy place. The Russian ambassador's grandson owns it. Wear something sexy. I won't take no for an answer."  
  
"Then hell n-"I replied before Kouga rudely interrupted me.  
  
"I won't take 'Hell no!' or 'Fuck off!' as an answer either." Bubbling inside of me was something akin to a murderous rage for some conceited wolf millionaire brat  
  
"Come one, woman. You're mine. Everyone knows that. It's only a matter of time until you realize that too. So what do you-"His sentence was cut short. At sometime under a blink of an eye, Kouga drew his weapon of choice: a custom-made Colt revolver of the 22nd century, the kind that was sold in the Black market. Before I could even realize the movement around me, Inuyasha and Kouga positioned their weapons, directed dead- center on the other's forehead.  
  
Inuyasha's .45-caliber handgun did not waver in his hand, neither did Kouga's. It was like they were trained in the art of gun-play. Dangerous toys for dangerous men. The wolf leapt sharply from the window of his car to the back of Inuyasha. However, the dog demon merely turned around with the flare of his fire-rat haori riding the waves of the breeze and took out another handgun from his waist. One in each hand.  
  
"So this is the bastard who you saved yourself for . . . ?" Inuyasha inquired under a reluctant breath as if it strained himself to say it.  
  
"Then he shall die . . . I wanted to kill that stupid wolf-shit anyways. Ever since I saw his face during Reinhardt's farewell party. Guess it was his time to quite the Japanese Underground. It was his time to leave the syndicate. I 'personally' bade him goodbye." the dog demon growled.  
  
"Don't think so, Inuyasha." Inuyasha gave a characteristically- sounding growl, and with a war cry that reached every corner of the street, he fired his handgun. His bullets were accurate, but so was Kouga. Every bullet that Inuyasha shot grazed the sides of his opponent's torso and one on the side of his cheek. It looked like the wounds were inflicted by a sword. I recognized it easily because I once researched about the art of swordplay and gunplay for a high school thesis. This particular art was called the Shi Kenjuu, the "death pistol." The bullets usually contained some opium poison in order for the wounds to create an infectious pathway to the blood system.  
  
Kouga's Colt Revolver soon fired after Inuyasha assault. At first analysis, it appears to a normal gun shot, but to the trained eye, there is a powerful gust of air that trails the bullet. If the bullet misses the supposed target, the air has enough caliber to damage organs internally. The wolf prince's style of gunplay was named the Hakai Kyouki, the "Weapon for Murder and Destruction." The bullet was dodged by Inuyasha, but the air wasn't easily missed. It made impact with his hind leg before he could leap out of its pathway.  
  
Though the expression of pain or all that nonsense emotion did not usually soften his face frequently, it was there. I read it like I could read that both opponents were reading harshly from the overexertion. This was a disadvantage for Inuyasha, and I knew that I had to take action before something fatal happened to him.  
  
The two brawled for a few minutes before Kouga locked Inuyasha in an unpromising situation. Since the abrasion to his leg caused the dog demon's speed to falter, he could not compete with the quick movements of the naturally speedy wolf prince. Soon, Kouga held his Colt Revolver a few breaths away from Inuyasha's forehead. Inuyasha with his own disadvantage could not bring his handgun to Kouga's heart area.  
  
"Kill me. I dare you to."  
  
Inuyasha sported a trail of crimson blood on the edge of his mouth. Kouga tugged on the trigger tauntingly, slowly, agonizingly. I ran to Kouga, wrapped my arms around his middle (the highest part I could reach), and pleaded for the life of the dog demon.  
  
"Don't, Kouga. Let him go." I whispered, and I knew that they both heard me from their reactions. Inuyasha growled in the lowest pitch I've ever heard, a low rumble as I watched his eyes from behind Kouga. They were devouring me; amber pools of liquid heat consuming me. I was ashamed, thus I looked away. I still felt his gaze on me, over me, through me. The wolf prince hesitated and then lowered his gun. He placed it back in his jacket and entered his car. Before he drove off, Kouga stared at me with naïve, lusty eyes.  
  
"I did this for you. I didn't kill that piece of dog shit because, Kagome . . . you're my woman." He drove off, turned the corner, and disappeared in his flashy car. One disaster take care of, one other to go. With my head tilted to the ground, I faced Inuyasha.  
  
"Inuyasha . . . let's go home. I need to tend to your wounds." I reached for his arm, but he waved me away. Every time I tried to grab hold on his arm, he pulled it away sharply. He wouldn't even look at me.  
  
"Inuyasha, please. You're bleeding."  
  
"Let go of me, whore. Just leave me alone." And like a kicked puppy, he staggered away.

* * *

"I don't accept. You can't quit being my slave." Ryoki Tachibana, from the graphic novel, Hot Gimmick, Vol. 2 by Miki Aihara. I don't know how long I stood there, or when exactly I decided that standing in the middle of the road was a stupid, pointless idea. I stood in the sidewalk instead. I was back to square one in my mission to find Inuyasha salvation. Now that I think of it, I never stepped out of square one. I was hopeless. He was hopeless. Inuyasha thinks I'm Kouga's whore. The thought made me cringe, and my knees collapsed under me. When did what Inuyasha thought mattered to me? When did he become part of my routine?  
  
It started raining that afternoon. Rain drops falling on my head. Just like that song. My tears also started raining that afternoon. They merged with the rainfall, and at that point, you wouldn't know that I was crying profusely. Why was I crying?  
  
Shit.  
  
I was crying for Inuyasha. I was a massive plate of blubbering strawberry Jell-O. I was pathetic; I was acting like an emotional, feminine soap opera queen. And I hated it. Usually I liked Jell-O, but not the blubbering strawberry kind. I choked a laugh. How do I manage to think these completely random, ridiculous thoughts at difficult times like these?  
  
Everything was getting blurry. My vision started to obscure the objects around until all I could see was blurs of something that used to be a mailbox. This sudden shot of heat raced through my veins, hovering on my skin, and making my entire body an inferno. My breath was short pants, attempting to take in some oxygen, but failing miserably. I knew I was moaning out his name. The only name in my thoughts. I wasn't committing suicide out here in the rain. I wanted to move, but my body protested. It just wanted to lie on the cemented sidewalk with the rain showering down upon me. It just wanted to be helpless.  
  
"Inuyasha . . . "Buh-bum. My heart quivered slightly in response. The sky above was a painting of angered gray and shades of white and black. They were angry at Inuyasha. I knew I was. It wanted to strike him down with lightning and frighten his dog demon ass with thunder. It wanted him to fear and feel some emotion for her. Anything that was proof I affected him in some way.  
  
"Inuyasha, am I really a whore?" I asked the skies who in turn, appeared to look like a blob of Inuyasha's face. The wind drafted a scent of pine forest, a scent of Inuyasha. The blur that floated above me resembled Inuyasha in an uncanny type of way.  
  
"Look at you. Kagome, you can't even take care of yourself. How can you think that you can take care of me?" the blur said. This can't be Inuyasha. This blur had gentle hands traveling over her skin. He was much too "fluffy" to be the man who didn't care much for her. I knew that my clothes were plastered to my skin, and I was shivering uncontrollably. Still, he gathered me in his arms, very much like a husband would do to his bride. The thought allowed me to smile a tiny little grin.  
  
At this point, I was practically hallucinating from my fever. I had the state of mind of a drunkard, or Robert Downey Jr., which ever was more drugged. He was taking me somewhere. I realized this as we strolled out in the rain with me in his arms. Mr. Blur had an adorable pair of puppy ears, and I in my own drugged state reached out to touch them.  
  
"You have a doggie's ears. Wuff! Wuff! You look like a refrigerator." I was also speaking nonsense.  
  
"A refrigerator goes 'moo, moo, moo' all the way home. The wheels on the refrigerator goes 'moo, moo, moo' all day long. Didjia like my song, Mr. Blur? You know what? I am a virgin! Yes, I am. But you know what? Ask me! Ask me 'what?'" The blur gave a heavy sigh and muttered "What?" I lifted myself higher in his arms, so I could reach his ears. I whispered my secret to him.  
  
"I was saving my first kiss and my virginity for the same guy. Whoever I was going to share my first kiss with is who's gonna take me. It's funny because there's this guy who stole my first kiss. Does that mean Inuyasha will have to take me? That's a funny idea. I mean the guy practically thinks I'm Kouga's little slut. He was the first man who ever touched me. Do you think I'm a whore?" I inquired the Blur.  
  
"N-no." He stammered. He was shaking. I felt his tremors as he held me. I nuzzled his neck to reassure him that he was safe. I've seen dogs do that to each other. I figured since Mr. Blur had puppy ears, he must be a canine. I kept nuzzling; the scent of pine trees was present. I was addicted to it. I gave a small, child-like kiss on the hollow of his throat and settled on his chest. He tensed and strained his muscles underneath. His heart beat increased rapidly.  
  
"How am I going to even reach home without fucking her? God, keep Senor Massive sleeping. Down, boy." He was muttering to someone I couldn't see. I ignored his conversation with this "Senor Massive" and toyed with the silky strands of his glorious hair. I clutched it in my little hand and dozed off into some feverish dreamland.  
  
It was then he drew me closer as we exchanged roles. Mr. Blur was no buried in the hollow of my throat, and his arms were circled around me in a near embrace. He inhaled deeply, and at the moment, I felt secure in this hazy embrace. I realized that it felt so damn good to be the one who was being comforted and not the person initiating the hug. It felt good to be cherished, and I returned the embrace with weak, tender arms.  
  
"You can let go now."  
  
"Can't. Too tight."  
  
"Okie dokie. Goodnight, Mr. Blur and Senor Massive." He groaned as I drifted off to sleep.  
  
"God, leave it to Kagome to be the only person besides me who talks to my penis."

* * *

A/N: Let's leave it here. Woah, this was a "fluff-ilicious" chapter. I figured it was due time for some marshmallow junk. At least I still have the word "penis" in my chapter. I swear if everything in my story turns into a Care Bear porn video, I will scream. Review. No, I'm not asking nicely.


	4. Cold, Hard Bitch

A/N: Er, I updated. I also have a xanga. Someone visit it. Drop me message. Be really nice. You can go to my profiles page here and click on the link for my site. It will take you to my online diary.

_w w w . x a n g a . c o m / h a p p y w o k t a k e o u t_

* * *

_"Cold hard bitch. Just a kiss on the lips. And I was on my knees."_

_-"Cold Hard Bitch" by Jet_

* * *

_Chapter IV: Cold, Hard Bitch_  
  
". . . if I remained in this place too long. I would take on too much hurt, too many invisible bruises, as I dreamt besides these sad men in a lost world, dreaming of Carl and Mark and Michael." The character, Liz, from The Floating World, a novel by Cynthia Gralla once said that. Of course, it wouldn't make sense to a person who hasn't read it, but the quote related to my situation. I slept paralyzed in someone's bed. My surroundings were dark, however that could be due to the fact that I was closing my eyes. I was in a dangerous place with a dangerous man, and if I remained in that place too long, I would take on pain, the invisible wounds on my skin. Yet, I still dreamt of Inuyasha and Inuyasha and Inuyasha.  
  
At last, sleep left me. I woke up on soft blankets and swan-feather pillows in cotton pillowcases. The room that I was in was barren with very few furniture and a quaint fireplace. There were no lights besides the blazing fire in the fireplace, and the window opposite of me showed a heavy rainforest-esque rainfall with wet leaves plastered to the windowsill. There was no one in this room besides me, and I crept out of the bed to roam around. On a mahogany table close to the bed was a pile of disorganized papers, begging to be touched. My hand traced invisible circles on the table as I inched closer to the papers.  
  
Then a sharp pain in the pit of my abdomen startled me. I was bleeding. I was on my period, and it felt like shit. I groaned and sat at the chair beside me. There were the papers again, calling to me, and I, in my own weaknesses and faults, fell to the temptation. The papers read the date of this year. Curious, I continued.  
  
_December 12. 2004  
  
I'm tending to a woman that I should avoid like a curse. She's helpless and vulnerable; hardly fit enough to care for herself. She's Kouga's woman, and yet I tend to her illness. I brought her home in the dead of night with a fever of 110 degrees. Her name is Kagome Higurashi. She was speaking of nonsensical things, and like a drunkard under alcohol, Kagome acted inappropriately. I sound cold, however I doubt that shocks you. Through her indecency, she has ignited something that lay dormant for a very long time. This fire within the pit of my soul burns, itching for the taste, the scent of a woman. I've been gone too long without human contact. It's a lonely business. Abstinence does not complete a man, just starves him until he becomes the sand across windswept dunes. Without purpose.  
  
I'm fasting from the human flesh because of a past love who does no love me. Then there is this woman who groans and whimpers as she sleeps, muttering as her hand travels from her face to her neck to her navel, agonizingly. She seduces me as she sleeps. I imagine her groans and whimpers as I take her, slipping into her sweet passage, and I escape to the bathroom to relieve myself. Pathetic, but it seems these past few days I'm more acquainted with the bathroom than any other human.  
  
I can smell virgin all over her, and it draws me as a drug would to an addict. I bury myself in the place where her neck meets her shoulder, so I could memorize this complete feeling of serenity wash over me. This could be the last time I'd be in this position, and it would be necessary if I could savor enough of these moments to last me for the rest of eternity. Every man must have their obsession, and mine was this woman. I still love Kikyou undeniably; however it is my body that responds to Kagome.  
  
My body is nearly always responsive whenever the thought of her comes to mind, or when she nags me at the bust stop. My body betrays me and my conscience. It betrays me, and I allow this immoral taboo. My hand which once supported my body hovering over her blindly searched for her own, and without my mind's permission, hands entwined. Soft against coarse, untainted against bloodied fingers.  
  
"I love you," she mutters in her sleep, and I halted in my actions and my breathing. I choked from the lack of oxygen, but my mind and heart was smothered by her words. I was loved?  
  
". . . Papa." At last, I abandoned my breath and breathed once more. Kagome was wishing her father her love, not me. Silly, naïve, manipulated half-breed. It was then, at that time, I realized that I craved love more than I admit. I buried my face in her shoulder; my body pinning hers to the bed. God, I've never felt this captive, this willing to surrender to a female.  
  
Then I see red. It's what I feared might come: my inner demon. My movements were aggressive, and my breath became pants in between growls. A wafting scent breezed into my senses, causing my body to become rigid in response. It was Kagome. Her scent was a sweet mixture of innocence and virility; the musk of her blood seducing me. She was undergoing her period.  
  
Fuck!  
  
Despite the need for self-control, my demon inside followed the trail of her scent to where it emitted the most. My nose barely hovered over the bare skin of her stomach (the shirt shifted in her sleep). It was there that I left a small lick of the tongue to taste her skin.  
  
"Mine." I found myself growling this like a mantra.  
  
My hand drifted to her knee, savoring the softness. I inched higher her leg, much into the mid thigh. Each inch explored caused her skirt to fall back and expose pink puppy bikini underwear!  
  
Virginal panties! Every man's fantasy. Kagome is driving me nuts!  
  
The thought doused any acts of aggression. I laughed fiercely. The first burst of spontaneous laughter in such a long time. I contained the emerging demon and sat up from my position over Kagome. I merely sat and chuckled at the sight she made.  
  
The laughter however did not douse the fire that coursed through my skin and Senor Massive's sudden appearance in the Land Down Under.  
  
I need a cold shower, and afterwards, I'm going to train for a very long time. Jeez, how can I take molesting Kagome so lightly? She is the most adorable creature I've ever met. It annoys the hell out of me, but the bitch entertains me anyways.  
  
Aint' I articulate?  
  
- Inuyasha  
_  
I found myself blinking several times, followed by a few minutes of blushing redder than Inuyasha's fire-rat haori, and then clutching my abdomen on the floor, groaning like a wild beast in agony.  
  
"Stupid bastard! God damn, it hurts. Men are stupid. Stupid! They're also a bunch of chauvinistic pigs who only think of their dicks. I'm going to barbeque that damn dog. A1 steak sauce, baby. Oh, hell yah." Anyone who could see this disturbing situation would fear me, the screaming, teary brood on the floor. They would doubt my sanity and evacuate the room as soon as possible. Guess which lucky person had the pleasure of finding me in this position? The one and only living, walking, and breathing steak made of dog demon.  
  
Inuyasha came from behind the mahogany door with a concerned expression etched on his face. Probably from all the screaming. His eyes sought my own vivid, blood-lust eyes and the gleaming fork clasped in my hand which I found from underneath his bed.  
  
"Bitch, what the hell--?" he hollered from behind a half-opened door. Highly defensive.  
  
"Barbeque Boy, prepare to meet your doom." I pounced on him as he gave a surprising, high-pitched squeal. However his reflexes were swifter than I assumed, and he seized both of my wrists, pinning me on the bed, and straddled me. Of course, I rebelled and fought under his grip. I even attempted to give him a kick to the head. It didn't reach his enormous head however.  
  
"I'm going to eat your damn flesh." I growled underneath my breath. He simply sat there his right eyebrow curving in question. I tried to escape his hold on me once more, but all I accomplished was the ability to squirm.  
  
"Let go of the fork. You might poke me in the eye." His hands gently, but firmly squeezed my wrist, until the fork fell to the floor with a dull thunk.  
  
"Good. I could put your eyeball in my lemonade, and drink it. Then the eye could melt by my stomach acids, and then through my digestive system, to—"I was muffled by a hand covering my mouth, which I bit. Again.  
  
"Crap! What is with you and my hand. I know I'm delicious, but I'm too much for a little bitch like you. Only a real, full-grown woman can handle the Inuyasha." His smug face deserved a slap from my hand. What I didn't expect was that same smug face nearing my own, until it appeared a centimeter away. He teased my lips by swaying his own back and forth in a teasing motion across mine. The air flew from my lungs, and I held my breath. His eyes were half-lidded, hypnotizing me.  
  
"But, there might be something oddly come-hither about you. It's very becoming of you." He planted a small, feather-light on my lips and grinned like the fool he was. Canines and all.  
  
"Cute. Little girl lips." Then he drew back, apparent that he was going to prolong any chaste kisses, which enraged me for waiting his kiss. I felt a familiar bulge near my abdomen which caused me to stiffen. My God, it was an erection! The concept of erections was so new and foreign to me that I squealed in shock and fright. Squirming and attempting to escape his grip once more, Inuyasha gasped above me. He had a twitching vein in his neck, pulsing. I found it fascinating.  
  
"Stop." A ragged command from the back of his throat. Some reason or another, he wanted me to stop. He had this possessive look in his eyes, burning me under his gaze. I continued, clearly wanting to escape Inuyasha and his penis.  
  
"I said, 'Stop!'" he hollered. At once, I halted in my actions, watching Inuyasha as he breathed heavily with closed eyes. He was perspiring, and his face was flushed. I was worried about him now.  
  
"Inuyasha . . . ? Are you alright? I didn't damage you and your package, did I? Because if I did, I'm so sorry. Honest." I was blabbering my apologies.  
  
"Shut up, bitch!" His lips returned to mine fiercely. Deeply. The kiss was depth-defying, and I welcomed it. Callous fingertips clutched my chin, tipping it backwards, allowing more access.  
  
He practically drank me in.  
  
As quickly as he initiated the kiss, he tore from the bed and strolled out the door, muttering.  
  
"Another damn shower! I smell cleaner than stupid, fucking Sesshoumaru."

* * *

A/N: There it is. It's stupid. But it's a chapter. A stupid chapter.


	5. Touch

**

* * *

**

**The Man at the Bus Stop**  
  
_By Doughnut of Ericks_

* * *

A/N: Here is the much awaited chapter five! Okay, I know that no one gave a damn. Even, I didn't give a damn for some period of time before finishing this chapter. It's longer than chapter four. Disclaimers? Yadda, yadda, yadda. Inuyasha doesn't belong to me. Yadda. Listening to myself talk about disclaimers remind me of the parents in the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special. You really don't want to listen to them, and sooner or later, their voices become mindless psycho-babble which turns your brain into tapioca pudding. Pudding, good. You eating tapioca pudding, formerly known as your brain, not so good.

* * *

_"Your touch is cold and damp, the Devil's in your eyes. I wonder why I always let you lead me on this way 'cause you see only what you want to see. You feel only what you want to, and I am on the outside of your strange world."  
  
- "Touch" by Sarah McLachlan_

* * *

_Chapter Five: Touch_  
  
One . . .  
  
Two . . .  
  
Three . . .  
  
Four . . .  
  
Five . . .  
  
I have five fingers.  
  
I can count.  
  
"ARGH!" I growled as I threw a down pillow at the door. I was imprisoned in Inuyasha's house like a little, twittering bird in a bird cage. I had nothing to do because that dumbass left me to entertain myself for the entire day.  
  
He should have at least left me a board game.  
  
Maybe Candyland . . .  
  
Or Monopoly.  
  
I liked Monopoly.  
  
Here I was lying on this oddly comfortable mattress, counting my fingers like a chimp. While distracted by my thoughts, my mind wandered to the moment I had with Inuyasha yesterday.  
  
He was a dangerous man.  
  
Dangerous in the sense of "terminally sensual" and "the end of my virginity."  
  
That is my definition of Inuyasha's "dangerous."  
  
Yet, it seems like I couldn't look away from him. I couldn't keep my distance from him. My fingers keep reaching for the unattainable.  
  
He should be home soon. I reached for my pocket, finding the desired lip gloss. I didn't know why I had any reason to look my best, but I was suspecting it had something to do with Inuyasha.  
  
I was parched, so I walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Leaning against a wall, I watched the sun through the water; sunshine blurred into something softer.  
  
This was Inuyasha.  
  
He was the mid-noon sun, burning underneath your clothes, making every inch of your skin heat until you flush and sweat. If you stare directly at him, you'll only see a haze, translucent dots scatter in every corner. You'd think you'd go blind, but that one vivid glimpse of him before the chaos makes everything settle in a state of reverie. However, when you see him through a glass of water, he's softer, planting unnoticeable kisses that feel like the first snowfall in November. Then, you know that he's going to be fine, even if you leave him for a little while.  
  
Then you know you will love him, you love him, you have loved him.  
  
I left the glass of water on the counter to go to his bedroom.  
  
I fell into his bed which I comment is nicer than mine. His pillows, his comforter- - they all had his scent, and foolish me, buried myself in them, as far as I could go without smothering myself. It felt nice like actually being embraced by him, and I found myself drifting into sleep, lulled by the imprint of him on his bed sheets.  
  
I overheard the angry sound of a door being slammed shut, followed by the clicks of metal locks. I leaped out of his bed, tried my best to straighten everything, and hid underneath it. From close range, his footsteps were heavy; my breath shallow. He flung an article of red clothing to a corner and stripped off his shoes and socks. His clothing was piled everywhere in disarray. I could see naked feet walking to the bathroom. I heard a whispered curse.  
  
Apparently, the tiles in his bathroom were cold against his skin.  
  
The pungent smell of blood hovered over everything. I can taste the metallic scent in my mouth. I've been biting my lip.  
  
Damn.  
  
Once he was in the shower, I slipped from underneath the bed and gathered his scattered clothing. His red haori jacket was even a darker red with the blood stains splattered on the material. I held his bloodied clothes in my arms, not carrying whether my dress would be soiled or my skin would have caked blood spots. I just watched Inuyasha in the shower.  
  
As he cried, fisting his hands against the wall, slouched.  
  
As he cried, his soaked curtain of silver hair sticking to his cold skin.  
  
As he cried, as the blood in his hair trailed to his face, crying tears of a watery red.  
  
As he cried, until the steam made him impossible to see.  
  
I clutched his clothes closer to me; my knuckles were stalk white. I bowed my head and cried as well. I cried out my miseries and wished that our tears were atonement enough for God to forgive him.  
  
"Let Inuyasha live." I prayed.  
  
I whimpered, and Inuyasha heard. His shower door slowly opened to find a wide-eyed Inuyasha staring at me.  
  
Silly, teary me.  
  
He tore out from his bathroom, managing to grab an indecently small towel and wrapping it around his waist. Once Inuyasha was in close distance, he fisted his bloodied garments and flung them elsewhere. The dog demon was in fit of rage that I had never seen before. His pupils dilated into pencil-point amber circles.  
  
He was too close.  
  
I attempted to push him off with my soiled hands. Then I looked at my own dirty fingers against his skin. His own fingers wrapped around my wrist, twisting it around so that my palms could be seen.  
  
I didn't want to see my own hands. They were soiled, caked with blood stains. They were ugly.  
  
"Never touch my clothes. The blood I shed is my responsibility alone. I never want to see you with this much blood in your hands. Never. Do you understand?"  
  
Vigorously, he shook my shoulders as he said this. Then, his shaking gradually slowed, until there were no more. I was flung into the shower, clothes and all. I watched how the blood slipped through my fingers and fell. What used to be red water was now a fainter, less-menacing pink. Inuyasha still had a grip on my shoulders, but it was lighter. I reached for him, drawing the demon in an embrace.  
  
He buried his head in the juncture of my shoulder and neck. His whispered words caused my skin to prickle.  
  
"I don't want your opinion of me to change. I have nothing to offer you but this cold lifestyle and a trail of blood. I have nothing to give you but misery. Soon, I will be replaced by an average man who will cherish you and give you children. You will die with him as you age. I don't even believe I'll live enough to age."  
  
I wrapped my arm around his neck; my fingers settling near his cheek as I absentmindedly stroked him. I reassured him that it's okay.  
  
His breath settled into my skin.  
  
"I'm not a holy man, Kagome. I lead the syndicate of Tokyo. I kill for my comrades."  
  
We embraced, letting the water wash away all our sins, insecurities, our spilt blood.  
  
"I don't want a holy man. I want what we share, and that is enough for me."  
  
"What do we share?" he spat out bitterly, refusing to meet eyes, instead staring at a blank wall beyond me. I could feel his body stiffen beneath my arms.  
  
I kissed him.  
  
There, I knew that I could never love that "average man" he spoke of because any other man wasn't . . .  
  
. . . him.  
  
He reached for me; both hands cradling the sides of my face, gently, but firmly. Inuyasha had his face downwards, ashamed once again. He shook his head, back and forth, back and forth.  
  
"No. No, no, and no. This is wrong. Everything we are is wrong."  
  
"I want this."  
  
"Want what? This?" He pressed something hard against the juncture of my legs, and in response, I blushed in all my virginal glory. I turned my eyes to his, and I could only find a wry grin on his face, twisted and cruel, and that gleam of lust.  
  
"You little whore. I'm not your sex toy, but you could be mine. I know you wouldn't mind aimless fucking." He lifted my right leg and wrapped it against his waist. Inuyasha dragged his finger across my skin, and despite my dignity, I shivered. Toes curled. He caught my chin in his grasp and left deep, rough kisses on my lips. Like a doll, I allowed his careless mistreatment of me.  
  
His lips hovered slightly from my neck, not close enough for contact, but enough to stimulate me. His face was in an angle, and I could feel his eyes watching me watch him.  
  
"What do you want? Tell me and leave. Tell me, so I can continue on my life without you."  
  
"Your love. I want nothing more than to have you for myself. I'm selfish with you, and it's because I love too much."  
  
He was angry. I could tell from the way his face hardened and the low growl emitting from his throat. He wrapped both of my legs around his waist, and now his hardness pressed firmly against the intense heat I felt.  
  
"Is this what you want, you fucking slut?!" Inuyasha slammed me against the wall, and much to my dismay, I found myself aroused. He halted briefly, sensing something in the air. His nose traveled throughout some indecent places in my body, finally stopping above my abdomen. I could hear him take a strong whiff and then sigh.  
  
Did I smell awkward, strange?  
  
He glanced up to me, and I stared back, curious. The look on his face made me drive myself against the wall even more, if that was possible. He wanted to devour me. Inuyasha was hungry for something, for blood, for sex, for something, and that carnal look kept my gaze.  
  
"Leave now, bitch. Leave before you can't take back your words."  
  
"But, Inuyasha---"  
  
"Fucking bitch, leave!"  
  
He yanked me from the shower, through his bedroom, leaving a wet trail everywhere. My eyes caught a blur of colors, the brief glimpse of furniture, the smoothness of his skin, until we stopped. After unlocking his umpteenth lock, he threw me out his house. I thought I saw a glimpse of regret and hurt, but I must have seen nothing except the door as it closed.  
  
Once again, he shut me from his life.  
  
Somehow, I didn't have the will to get back in.  
  
I fingered the red welts around my wrist, and on his doorstep, I cried for all it's worth.  
  
Me, my tears, my love -- it was worth nothing to Inuyasha.

* * *

_December 25, 2004_  
  
_"Left uninspired by the crust of railroad earth  
  
That touched the lead to the pages of your manuscript.  
  
I took my thumb off the concrete  
  
And saved up all my strength to hammer pillars for a picket fence."_  
  
I could hear the radio strumming from the background of silence. I leaned against the doorway and could smell the salt from her tears. It was a bitter, acute scent that I despised because I had been the one to cause them to fall. Kagome deserved better than the existence I could give her; she was meant to be the wife of an ordinary man and bear children that will never be mine. The apartment seemed colder without the presence of a woman.  
  
The barriers surrounding my heart have become impenetrable, even to the point of closing off the only piece of humanity I have these days. She was willing to sacrifice her goodness for my selfish, impossible needs, and I almost allowed her to do that.  
  
When did I become so weak against her?  
  
When did she become part of my routine?  
  
I lay my head against my doorway, listening to her erratic heartbeat fade into her absence as she alas left my doorstep. I whimpered at the finality of this twisted goodbye. I recalled her lips as it crashed down upon mine, moist from the shower, as sweet as a woman's lips could ever be. Her acceptance of my identity was astounding, time-defying even.  
  
I blindly touched the pages of my letters, my letter to Kikyou I haven't sent, the pages of my journal. Imagine, a man of my age, of my kind, writing like a ten-year-old girl in her little pink diary. I laughed, sounding bitter in my ears. What was the use of letters that meant nothing to anyone, even me? Kikyou was dead, and I hardly read my own manuscripts. Yet, as I stroked the grainy texture of the papers, I felt a sense of serenity overcome me. This was my passion, besides spilling blood and deluding saint-worthy virgins to fall for me.  
  
_"It wasn't quite what it seemed:  
  
A lack of pleasantries (my able body isn't what it used to be).  
  
I must admit I was charmed  
  
By your advances: your advantage left me helplessly  
  
Into you."  
_  
Yet, I was attached to her. She evaded my thoughts throughout the day, and I wish she didn't because my heart bleeds when those tears fall. I never felt unconditional love before Kagome. I can't hide the man I am; however, even great men fall when they starve, when they see their grandest desire falling in ruins. The beauty of tragic attraction—that was my illness. In the process of writing this, I drifted to my bedroom, into my bed, only to be reminded of Kagome as the sheets emitted her scent. I found myself weak, lonelier.  
  
Damn woman.  
  
She smells good.  
  
I could see the mid-day sun playing games with my windowpane. I shielded my eyes with my hands, but the sunlight bled through the fingers. I shut my eyes, laid my hand across them, and for once in my life, I felt defeated, even more so than when Kikyou denied my love, or when I first knew she would never be mine. I could hear the pounding of my heart in my head, throughout my body, even reaching my toes, and I knew that this illness could be the end of me.  
  
_"I tried my best to keep my distance from your dress  
  
But call-response overturns conviction every time.  
  
My memory cannot recall:  
  
A wave of alcohol  
  
We shared a cigarette  
  
And shaved the hours off.  
  
Talking how the group  
  
Had begun to splinter  
  
And I could taste your lipstick on the filter..."_  
  
I don't know how long I laid there, so still for something so alive. I don't know how many days and nights passed before I got up from bed. She was here, in my doorway, looking at me with an endearing expression. I reached for her, tumbling out of bed, awkward, coltish. My knees collapsed, and I wound my arms around her waist. How I missed her. How it pained me to make her cry, and I sincerely hope that Kagome wouldn't leave me despite how I drive her away. I buried my face against her soft, rounded belly, and it charmed me to know that she still had baby fat. His fingers wove throughout my hair, and I mumbled my apologies.  
  
Then, I felt nothing.  
  
No warm, rounded body. No feeling of reassurance and second chances. No beauty. No life. No nothing.  
  
There was no one there, but me. That is the saddest truth about my life.  
  
I was going hysterical when I started to laugh at my own insanity.  
  
Hollow. A sound so hollow. The wrong kind of laughter.  
  
I ran to the kitchen. Maybe, dehydration allowed welcomed hallucinations. I reached for a mug, a cup, anything, and I found a used cup with lips stick on the rim.  
  
I looked at it, and I pressed my lips against the pinkish mark.  
  
My last kiss with that beautiful woman.  
  
I broke down, and the glass met with the floor, scattering shattered pieces. I bled from some of the broken glass, and soon enough, the blood and the tears became a dull red color.  
  
There was no greater pain than this. This feeling of lost hope, of loneliness, of heartbreak, and I knew then that I was human after all.  
  
The radio strummed something that caught my interest before the song ended.  
  
_"I rushed this.  
  
We moved too fast, and  
  
Tripped into the guestroom.  
  
I rushed this.  
  
We moved too fast, and  
  
Tripped into the guestroom."_  
  
I had rushed this, became selfish, and this was how God punished sinners.  
  
I was a sinner, and this is how I atone.  
  
_- Inuyasha___   
  
The man stared at himself in the mirror, and his heart bled even more.

* * *

A/N: Ugh . . . man. I was feeling depressed because I have to start high school soon, so this is for all the bullshit in my life. Poor Inuyasha and Kagome have to pay for my depression. Oh yah, the song that was I used for that segment was Death Cab for Cutie's "We Know the Facts and We're Voting Yes" title track. It's good, addictive, even. 


End file.
